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6
Momma was takinga nap when Katie arrived home.She tired easily these days, and her legs didn’t move as fast as she wanted.But her mind was as sharp as ever.Mary had reminded her sister on the drive home, “Don’t be fooled by how feeble Momma looks.She’s a fighter and will use every ounce of strength to do what has to be done.”
Katie smiled, fondly remembering the high-energy, feisty woman she’d looked up to all her life, and had feared when Momma didn’t hesitate to give her a whooping she deserved.And Momma could always tell if she was telling a fib.Maybe it was the way Katie averted her eyes or the frantic pleading for her father to intervene, knowing he had a soft spot in his heart for her.
She was Daddy’s girl, and he’d saved her from a beating more than once.She swallowed; a rush of pain and regret welled up from deep down, where she’d shoved it, where she hid it.Her chin quivered as tears rolled down her cheeks.When he was on his deathbed, she wasn’t there to say goodbye.Katie had been her dad’s favorite, yet she never came home to see him—even when he asked for her—until it was too late.He had held on to a thin thread of hope, asking for Katie day after day.Even when others knew it was hopeless, he clung to it until the time he drew his last breath.He had waited and held on in this world for as long as he could.In the end, Katie had hurt him and disappointed him again—and denied his dying wish.
Katie had blamed everyone except herself.Everyone.The guilt she carried would be her burden forever.
It was too late for Katie to undo what she did.She wondered how he could have loved her—a selfish, cold-hearted, and ungrateful child.Dad would be in heaven now, knowing she’d come home to see her mother.Knowing she was too late for him.
Katie curled up on her bed and cried.Her room was exactly the way she’d left it, her childish drawings still taped to the walls.Each piece had its history.She’d kept it all—her collection of dolls and her music jewelry box with the twirling pink ballerina on top, filled with cheap costume jewelry that meant so much to her.It was as if she were still the little girl cranking the handle of the music box, watching the dancing ballerina as the music played.She popped the lid open just to hear it again.
Her bed was pink.Looking at it now through grown-up eyes, the bed cover had faded, the threads of fabric worn thin from countless washes.Her momma had tried to get her a new set, but Katie wouldn’t hear of it.She wanted her soft, old sheets and the pink bed cover.It didn’t feel like home otherwise.They also painted the walls of her bedroom that color, a dark shade of pink.
Her clothes were still in the drawers and closet.It was all there—the stuffed animals, her collection of dolls, the small bookcase with her favorite books, framed pictures on the wooden chest of drawers, and her secret hiding place, welcoming her back with their familiar presence.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
“You doing okay?Need help unpacking?”Mary asked.
“I’m almost done.”Katie wiped her moistened eyes.She was glad the door was closed.That was a thing they did growing up—respecting each other’s privacy and the need to be alone sometimes.
“Momma’s in the kitchen, asking about you.”
“Be right out.”Katie stood up, smoothing the bed cover and pulling it down over the edges.She took one last look at her room before opening the door.The little girl inside of her ached, and yet assured the grown-up girl.“It’ll be all right,” her younger self said, as if she were a mother speaking to a child.
